


In the hearts of soldiers

by Fuinixe



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dom Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Dom/sub Undertones, Gun Kink, Gun Violence, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Pet Names, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prompt Fill, Sub Nicky | Nicolo di Genova, but still pretty disturbing, only minor sex-related injuries are sustained, the gun violence is imaginary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:46:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27984834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuinixe/pseuds/Fuinixe
Summary: Written for theoldguardkinkmeme. "Movieverse Joe and Nicky. I'm hoping for something a little dark, a little fucked up, but very loving. They get off on the danger of it. Gun insertion and/or gun fellatio"
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 28
Kudos: 114





	In the hearts of soldiers

**Author's Note:**

> Massive thanks to the three lovely people who gave me lots of helpful feedback: [Hewt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowen/pseuds/hewt), [Shadowen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowen/pseuds/shadowen), and the Once and Future Himbo King, Alex.
> 
> Kinkmeme prompt [here.](https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/8201.html?thread=2855945#cmt2855945)
> 
> It doesn't matter too much, but in my head, Nicky and Joe are speaking in Italian for this whole scene, unless otherwise specified.

It started the way it often did, with Joe cleaning the guns. 

The weapons cache was badly in need of maintenance, since they hadn’t stopped at this safe house in at least 15 years. It would have made for a quiet, productive evening. Nile and Andy had adjourned two days prior to some nearby mountain retreat, ostensibly to teach Nile horseback riding. Joe had sorted through the contents of the dusty kitchen cabinets earlier and unearthed a couple of shot glasses and a half-full bottle of single-malt whiskey that Booker had left behind the last time they’d been through. Their evening might have proceeded that way, sipping their drinks, Joe with his cleaning tools and trays arrayed in front of him, Nicky with his straightforwardly titled textbook _500 Common Chinese Idioms_. 

Nicky was having trouble focusing, though. Every few minutes, his eyes would slide over to Joe’s hands, which had just finished deftly disassembling a sleek, black 1911, modified with a 6 inch barrel, and had begun meticulously cleaning every part. Joe’s face was perfectly neutral, his gaze focused as he applied gun oil to all the surfaces of each piece, one by one. 

The scent of the oil mingled with the smell of scotch in Nicky’s nose, and he felt his prick twitch interestedly. Joe’s beautiful, tapered fingers worked a bristle brush back and forth over the interior surfaces of the slide frame, and the soft scratch-scratch sound followed by the whisper slide of cotton swabs over metal made the hairs stand up on the back of Nicky’s neck.

Nicky swallowed heavily and forced himself to refocus on the introduction. _“After we obtained the overall frequencies of occurrence for each of the 500 idioms, we took the 50 idioms that derive from fables or Chinese history and arranged them according to frequency...”_

The snapping sound of Joe shaking a rag out before he started to rub the grip down drew Nicky’s attention again. His eyes slid back over to watch Joe’s right forearm flex slightly as he thrust a cleaning rod topped with an oily cotton swab down the barrel. Nicky’s eyes flicked up to Joe’s face. Joe hadn’t noticed his attention yet. He currently had no idea that Nicky was staring at the skin exposed by his rolled-up sleeves, the dark flutter of his eyelashes every time he blinked, the confident slide of his hands over the gun’s smooth surfaces as he started reassembling it. 

Nicky knew, as soon as he spoke a word, Joe would turn all that focused attention on him, and he relished the anticipation, a sweet whiskey-quickened warmth creeping up his face. His heart beat a little faster.

Joe’s hands went through the final assembly motions, sliding the plug back over the recoil spring and pushing it in firmly. He pulled the slider back to check it for smooth motion and inserted an empty magazine, thumping the base of it with the heel of his palm to make sure it was seated correctly. Before he could set it aside and reach for the next firearm, Nicky spoke up.

“Joe.”

His voice was hoarse, and he cleared his throat. Just as Nicky knew he would, Joe immediately looked up, brown eyes wide and beautiful. Those eyes traced over the flush on Nicky’s cheeks, down to the hand that had crept down to palm lightly at the bulge in his pants. When Joe looked back up, his pupils were dilated.

“Would you load that gun for me, Joe?”

Joe’s eyes widened at first, then narrowed as he pulled what Nicky thought of as his thinking face. His head tilted to the side, his gaze sharpened, and Nicky thought he could guess what Joe was thinking right now. He’d probably run backwards through his terrible mental catalogue of all Nicky’s deaths, and hadn’t had to get very far to remember Keane shoving his gun in Nicky’s mouth. Nicky sometimes liked to...write over certain sense memories. Recontextualize them. At Joe’s hands, all of Nicky’s bad experiences gained new, exquisite meaning. It was both thrilling and soothing.

Nicky didn’t respond to the implicit question in Joe’s head tilt, just swallowed and stared back at him, letting Joe see the need shining from his eyes.

He was never going to deny Nicky. Joe polished off the last swig of his whiskey and directed an indulgent smile his way. “Meet me in the bedroom in five minutes, darling.”

* * *

When Nicky opened the bedroom door, Joe was leaning against the opposite wall, the same RIA 1911 he’d just cleaned sitting snugly in his favorite holster on his thigh. The only light in the room came from the hallway, so Nicky left the door open and crossed the room before dropping to his knees in front of Joe. Joe’s hand came down to pet the soft fluff of his hair. Nicky nuzzled forward, rubbing his face against the crotch of Joe’s gray sweatpants, his arms coming up to hug Joe’s legs. 

Nicky breathed in several long, deep breaths through his nose. He always loved the smell of Joe, but he particularly relished the smell of Joe right here, strong, sweet-salty, and mouthwatering. He could feel the firmness of Joe’s dick hardening steadily under the catch and rub of Nicky’s face, causing blood to rush in turn down to Nicky’s cock. Nicky’s hands fell from the back of Joe’s thighs to his own fly, but before he undid his button, he looked up at Joe questioningly.

“May I?”

Joe’s face, turned down to gaze at him, was almost completely blanketed in shadow. “Only your trousers, _hayati_. Leave your shorts.”

Nicky unfastened the button of his pants and slid down his zipper. The sensation of much-needed freedom for his swelling erection made him sigh with relief, his light blue boxers much less restricting.

Joe’s left hand tightened briefly in warning against the back of Nicky’s head, while his right hand unbuckled the strap holding the gun in place. 

Nicky’s eyes had adjusted enough to the dim lighting to make steady eye contact with Joe, and he reached to pull the gun out of its holster. It felt cold and heavy. He checked the magazine—loaded. Good. Nicky pressed the gun into Joe’s strong hands.

On a couple occasions, Joe had tried to pass off an empty gun as loaded, for this particular activity. But Nicky wasn’t in the mood for that kind of play-acting tonight. He needed the danger. The risk of pain. Of blood. Of temporary death, of gasping back to life in agony.

He didn’t know why violence got him off, sometimes, and his need to explain had faded a long time ago. Maybe it was due to the circumstances of his birth into immortality, waking up to the clotting streams of blood and the screams of the dying. Maybe his and Joe’s violent period of courtship had warped his sexuality. Maybe the centuries of killing and dying had indelibly marked him, shadowed him, darkened his tastes.

But Joe loved him exactly as he was, and that was all that mattered.

Nicky craved the pure release that came with orgasm while staring into the eyes of Death itself, pushing through the valley of fear and out, up the other side onto the mountaintops of nirvana.

And whatever got Nicky off always got Joe off, too. Sometimes they couldn’t even remember with whom one of their kinks had originated. Nicky was pretty sure he was the first one to suggest this, though.

Joe wrapped his fingers around the gun’s grip and held it level with his hips, pointing straight out, his wrist propped against his lower belly. His other hand returned to cradling the back of Nicky’s head.

“Go on, baby.” Joe’s voice was almost a rasp, coarsened with arousal.

Nicky turned his head, angling in to softly kiss the back of Joe’s hand, then the knuckles of his index finger where it rested flat and straight along the trigger guard. Joe let out a shaky sigh. The smell of the gun oil filled Nicky’s nostrils again, mixed with the scent of Joe’s cock and balls, and a groan escaped from his lips. 

He drew back and pressed his forehead against the end of the barrel for a moment and played over an unlikely scenario in his mind’s eye. He was completely and unconditionally at Joe’s mercy, like this. Joe could curl his finger around that trigger and pull and in less than a second from the thought occurring in Joe’s brain, a .40 caliber bullet would rip the life from Nicky’s body. His skull would cave in; his brains would blast out in a mess on the rug behind him. Maybe the bullet would keep going, would rip right through Joe’s hand, too – but his hand would heal faster than Nicky’s head, and Joe could weave his fingers into Nicky’s wet hair and fuck his dick into Nicky’s mouth, slack with death. Nicky would awaken with his mouth stuffed full, gagging, feeling blood dripping beneath his shirt collar and coating his back. But Joe would still have 15 bullets left – that magazine was filled to capacity – and Joe could kill him again, over and over, Nicky shuddering back to life only to be brutally ended again – the Dark Joe in Nicky’s brain muttered _I didn’t say you could live yet – I like you better this way – empty –_

Nicky shivered and whined, his dick swelling and gooseflesh rising across his entire body at the imagery in his head. He lifted his chin and took the end of the gun barrel into his mouth. The metal was hard and unforgiving, though the cold rapidly faded as his mouth warmed the metal. 

The synthetic, chemical scent and taste of the oil filled his nose completely now, crowding out everything else, pushing out any other thought. His lips stretched obscenely, wrapped around the metal. The barrel felt heavy and unrelenting, pinning down his tongue, scraping smoothly against his teeth.

Nicky’s eyes opened and turned upward, seeking out Joe’s face in the darkness, but the highest point he could see on Joe’s body from this position was his chest. One of Nicky’s hands left its curled up position atop his thigh and found Joe’s hand where it cradled his head, intertwining their fingers, seeking connection. Joe’s hand was warm and comforting, as familiar as his own, a stark contrast to the unyielding and harsh metal invading his mouth. 

Nicky drew in a deep breath through his nose and pushed his face forward, forcing the barrel deeper into his mouth. The front sight scraped a straight, bloody line across the roof of his mouth, ripping right down the middle of his palate, and the swell of his bottom lip brushed against the frontmost edge of the trigger guard. Nicky couldn’t breathe like this, but he held himself in that position, drawing from the deep well of patience and motionlessness that made him an excellent hunter of bad men, even as moisture crept into the corners of his eyes. 

A muscle twitched in Nicky’s jaw, held open by the barrel’s thick metal cylinder. The lack of oxygen started creeping in, fuzzing his senses, and the room grew even darker. Static began buzzing in his ears. Nicky stayed for just a moment longer, enjoying the sensation of lightheadedness, before he drew back enough to breathe through his nose again. He knew Joe would be very unhappy with him if he actually blacked out. 

Joe’s hand at the back of his head untangled from his, but before Nicky could miss its weight, he saw his fingers hooking into the waistband of his sweatpants and underwear and pulling them down to mid-thigh, allowing his dick to spring free, uncovered. Nicky thought he might start to touch himself, but Joe went back to petting Nicky’s hair.

“I want you to suck that gun like it’s my cock, love.” 

Nicky’s eager nod was severely abbreviated by the stiff line of metal filling his mouth and holding his head in place. He tongued the narrow, lower half of the barrel as well as he could and slid his mouth up and down in little motions, letting his saliva coat the steel. A soft glint of light from the hallway reflected in the streaks of spit that covered the gun. 

Joe’s cock was so close to his face, and Nicky inhaled as deeply as he could, craving that ambrosial blend of gun oil and Joe’s arousal. As he forced his face forward, the roof of his mouth started bleeding again, layering in the taste and smell of iron. Nicky let the moan he’d been holding back escape his throat, and once he started, he couldn’t stop. His moans were just another thing he fed down the barrel of the gun, vibrating up through his chest, past his stretched, scraped lips and down the length of the gun. Nicky knew Joe could probably feel the vibrations in the hand wrapped around the grip.

Joe’s other hand was still so soft and gentle on the back of Nicky’s head, patient, even as pre-come gathered and hung glistening from the tip of Joe’s swollen cock. Nicky’s heart felt like it might burst out of his chest with love for this man. 

“You’re so good, baby,” Joe murmured to him. Nicky wished he could see his face. “You’re so hot like this.”

Joe’s praise stoked a fire in Nicky, who sped up his pace, saliva collecting in his mouth and leaking past his stretched-out lips, thick strands of drool dripping down the sides of the gun. His jaw ached fiercely now with strain and tension. Nicky felt a tear escape the corner of his eye and start to crawl down the side of his face until Joe caught it and wiped it away. 

Joe wove his fingers into Nicky’s hair and pulled his head back slightly with even, careful pressure across his whole scalp, until just the tip of the barrel rested inside Nicky’s mouth. Joe twisted his other hand and changed the angle of the gun so that Nicky’s face turned sideways, closer to Joe’s warm body. Nicky could feel sweat collecting in the creases of his bent knees, at the small of his back. He was burning through and through.

Joe used the hand that had been petting Nicky’s hair to take his full, hard cock and press it to the side of Nicky’s face, evoking a soft groan of gratitude. Nicky loved the texture of Joe’s cock, how firm and velvety soft it always felt against his freshly shaven face. Nicky had relished the opportunity to learn and re-learn every last detail of how Joe liked to be touched, how his circumcised dick differed from Nicky’s own. Touching Joe’s dick was a blessing; tasting it, a benediction; swallowing his seed, Nicky’s communion.

Joe pushed the end of the barrel in at an angle, prodding at the soft, slick surface of Nicky’s inner cheek, and Joe rubbed his cock against the protrusion distending Nicky’s face.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Nicky tried to swear, but it just came out a formless moan. Nicky jerked his hips forward in little thrusts, seeking friction against his boxers. He felt gloriously objectified in that moment. The only point of contact they shared was Joe’s plush cock-head rubbing against Nicky’s outer cheek.

The tool of death in Joe’s hand, forcing Nicky’s face in the direction he wanted it, was a substrate both binding and separating them, a threat wrought in punishing steel, tacky with Nicky’s blood and spit. The sensation of the gun inside him and Joe outside of him, pressing on him from both sides, as if the tip of the barrel and the tip of Joe’s cock could find a union in the sore and aching flesh of Nicky’s distended cheek – Nicky felt his whole body pounding with the pulse of his thundering heartbeat.

“God, Nicky, darling,” Joe crooned from above him. “You’re a vision like this – shit – oh God, Nicky. I love how fucking needy you are, baby, how filthy and whoreish you look like this. How beautiful. I could kill you right now, you know?”

Nicky moaned wantonly.

“I could kill you and you’d come back to me and beg me to do it again, wouldn’t you, my treasure?”

Nicky could only whine in agreement, his hips rutting faster against nothingness.

“I want to come all over your face, lover, spatter you and this gun with it. I know how much you’d like that, sweetheart.”

Nicky sobbed around the gun barrel. His whole body felt like it was on fire, his cock agonizingly hard between his legs. He forced his hands to steady and reached up, wrapping his fingers around Joe’s hand where it gripped the gun. Slowly, carefully, he ran one hand from Joe’s elbow all the way down his forearm, down the length of his hand, down to the tip of his index finger, still safe and flat and immobile against the trigger guard, and tapped it twice.

Joe huffed out a breath. “So needy. So demanding. Why don’t you put your hands to better use? You can touch yourself, _ya amar_.” Nicky’s hands fluttered a moment, indecisive, before splitting the difference, one hand covering the part of Joe’s dick that wasn’t already encircled by Joe’s fingers and the other rubbing at the front of his own boxers. He opened his eyes just in time to see Joe’s finger move to curl in and rest on the trigger.

Nicky jerked his face forward onto the gun, until the end of the barrel made him choke and gag, the new angle letting more of Joe’s length rub against his face. He used his fingers to gather the drool dripping past his lips and jerked Joe’s cock frantically, the head tracing long streaks of pre-come over his cheek.

“Nicky – oh Nicky – Nicky, Nicky, Nicky, _yes!”_ Joe hunched over him, his knees shaking as he came in long, hot, stripes all over Nicky’s face. The only still points of his body were his hands, frozen in position where they held the base of his dick and the grip of the gun.

Nicky tried to swallow his spit and gagged once more around the steel shoved in his mouth, and the feeling of its punishing shape holding his mouth open combined with the feeling of Joe’s hot spend coating his face made one last burst of pleasure and heat surge through his body. He ground his hand roughly, painfully against his erection and felt himself drop over the cliff of orgasm, all his tension snapping away like a cord stretched past its limit.

Joe immediately and carefully withdrew the gun from between Nicky’s lips and slid down the wall to set it on the floor, as far away as he could reach. He kicked off his sweatpants and drew Nicky into the circle of his arms and legs, curling his whole body around him. 

“Baby, darling,” Joe crooned, using a leg of the discarded sweatpants to gently wipe the mess off of Nicky’s face and cradling him through the aftershocks. “My fine, precious, lovely Nicky. You’re so good, sweetheart.” Nicky sagged happily against Joe’s body. With effort, he turned to straighten out his legs and the discomfort in his knees faded immediately. His floating feeling was giving way to a pleasant heaviness. “You did so well, Nicky. You turn me on so much when you get like this, you know?” Nicky nodded into Joe’s neck, a small smile flitting across his face. “I love you on your knees for me, dearest. My obedient, beautiful boy. You’re a miracle.” 

Nicky sighed happily and tightly squeezed one of Joe’s arms where it wrapped around his chest. “I love you.”

“I love you, dearest.”

“Shower?” Nicky asked. “In a minute,” he added, not quite willing to move yet.

“Of course, love. Anything for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> This author replies to comments.


End file.
